Dream A Little Dream Of Me
by Anguished Reveries
Summary: Our nightmares are nothing more than dreams of reality. We are all lost dolls, dancing to the music of society's boxes. There are many ways in which we can decide to wander. Thoughts are always so much worse in loneliness. These are the musings of a half-deranged woman. This is my story. Dreamwalker, Dreamweaver, Seer, Prophetess... Call me what you will, but know my world is dark.
1. Prologue: Limbo

Author's Note: The name Aislynn is Gaelic, so it's pronounced Ash-Lynn. Read and review!

* * *

My world has always been a confusing place. I was the sole child of Julia and Benjamin Wyvern. My mother was a ridiculously wealthy socialite, the belle of every ball. My father, on the other hand, founded and owned Wyvern Global, a multi-billion dollar company. Born on December 1, 1990, I was a giggling bundle of trouble.

As I grew older, I made a startling discovery. I was a mutant. Dreams were my mutation. I could control and manipulate my own, really, I could mess with my own subconscious, something both extremely awe-striking and disturbing. I could also create new dreamworlds and pull people in or invade their own dreams. It wasn't an extremely physical skill, unless I managed to yank someone into a dreamscape and battle them there. If defeated in my dream, I would simply wake up. More often than not, I was the victor. My winning constituted as access to their subconscious, where I would travel layer through layer to extract or implant information. All of this I learned at the Charles Xavier Institute for Gifted Children. I was sixteen when the Professor died. Needless to say, I took it hard.

I searched for him. I was convinced he was still alive and in a place where few people ever willingly traveled. Limbo, the place where dreamers go if dreams collapse. Usually people wake up when the dream breaks, but with multiple layers of dreams, the deeper you go into the subconscious, the harder it is to wake up. So I built a multi-layered dreamscape and engineered its collapse so I could fall into Limbo. I knew the dangers. Hours there would be eons, and if I lost sight of the fact that it was only a dream, I would be trapped there until my brains turned to soup. And I very nearly did on several occasions before. But this time, I truly lost sight of it all. I grew up in that world, and I built it just for me. It was my paradise. I was, for once, normal. I would fall asleep and have no dreams. I was well into my forties when I found the Professor. Well, he found me.

We talked for a while before he revealed his intent to return to the mortal world. I didn't have a flicker of doubt that he wouldn't be able to accomplish his goal. Then my world shattered around me as he told me the truth of this fantasy I had created for myself and I was jolted back to reality.

I was back there, back in that world that I had grown to think of as a despised nightmare. In Limbo, I had fallen for my own illusion. I believed that it was the real world and everything else was just a dream. Only hours had passed in the real world, but to me, it had been a lifetime. A lifetime enough for me to grow distant from everyone and everything around me. I started avoiding my friends, hiding, and always trying desperately to go back to Limbo. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recreate what had once been my bliss. I was trapped in a dreary world where my soul no longer belonged.

And slowly, the world began to crumble around my feet as I realized I would have to play the role of Aislynn Wyvern again, an act I had escaped in Limbo. And the charade went on. It went on, and on, and on as the days dragged by. As soon as I graduated, I dropped the false cheer. Emma tried several times to help bring me back into this world when she had discovered my time in Limbo. But I would have none of it. I returned to Wyvern Global when my parents passed away, and took on the mantle they had always intended to drop on my shoulders. Things started to blur after a while, and the difference between worlds no longer applied. It wasn't distinguishable anymore. So in that place between truths, I found an alcove to quietly occupy, I became Reverie, and she, to me, felt more real that I had ever felt in a long time. Then my powers started to work in both worlds, and I doubted their existence. What if it was all a dream? Had I never really left? Death was the only solution to find out if I was in a dreamscape or not. And if not, I found I didn't care.

Oliver's miraculous return stopped me from making that call, however. The largest and most prominent cities in the world were all in close proximity. Mirage, Gotham, Starling, and New York were all nearby, a hubbub of intellectual chaos and discovery. And we had grown up together, Bruce, Oliver, and I. It was a laughable coincidence that both Bruce and I became vigilantes into our own right. He was a formidable opponent, even without mutations. Then Oliver came back to town, and when the Hood arrived, it wasn't difficult for both Batman and Reverie to pay a visit to Starling City and ferret out the truth. It was amazing, the fact that all three of us became hooded figures running around rooftops at night. We had never imagined this type of camaraderie. But I was thrilled nonetheless.

When Bane had infiltrated Gotham while Oliver was still missing, I had quickly used my newfound powers over reality to get there and warp the course of events. The core was stabilized with my powers, and Gotham was soon normal again. My own private investigators speeded the investigation into Wayne Enterprises, so the whole matter was cleared up and the company was back in Bruce's hands. After giving him the schematics and sending military contracts his way, my company assisted in the revival of Wayne Enterprises.

I knew I was being selfish, however, when I replaced the cartilage in between Bruce's bones and repaired his beaten body. Hey, if the man continued to try and commit suicide every night jumping from rooftop to rooftop, why shouldn't I at least make it safer? Alfred was both thankful and angry at me. He was glad I'd taken away Bruce's pain, but also mad that I'd assisted his permanent return to the cape and cowl.

Now I was assisting Queen Consolidated in its return to power. Isabel Rochev had been blunt when she'd asked me if I was sleeping with Oliver. I fervently denied. We'd been the best of friends for years. The only fantasies of his I'd been in were the ones in the dreamscapes I'd created for our amusement over the summers we'd spent vacationing together.

Oliver was a changed man. Like me, he'd been trapped in a Limbo of sorts. His, however, was called Purgatory. The island had not been kind to him. The three of us knew the horrors of the world (and then some) more than most cared to even think about. It was depressing to think of the fact that three of the happiest and privileged children in the world had turned out so... Grim.

One board of directors meeting later, where I barely paid attention, I was sitting in the back of a café. Lightly stirring my cup of hot chocolate, I absentmindedly hum. A man drops into the seat in front of me. "A woman as beautiful as you shouldn't be sitting alone."

"Who says I'm not waiting for someone?" I retort, glancing up to see the familiar face of Tony Stark.

"You're Aislynn Wyvern, aren't you?"

"And you're Tony Stark."

He grins at me disarmingly. "What are you doing in my city, Mr. Stark?"

"Asking you why you've never come to mine." He frowns at me. "What's with the eyes? Contacts?"

I quickly look at the reflective napkin holder. In the span of minutes, my eyes must have morphed from brown into a golden amber. "No, it's a mutative gene."

He perks up with interest. "What kind of mutation? Can you only change your eyes, or-"

"Not at all, Mr. Stark. The mutation is limited to my eyes. They change whenever they feel like it, sometimes according to my mood." Like the dreams I manipulated, my irises morphed with ease.

"And your hair, is that natural?" It was white-blond, impossibly so, liberally streaked with light, shimmery gold.

"Yes, it is."

"So your mutation is more of a passive one, right?"

I smirk. "You could say that. I'm not a combative mutant. It's simple compared to others."

"You know, I've never heard of a mutant like you."

I smile weakly. "I've never been called a mutant, since my mutation isn't something I tend openly broadcast, because it only affects my eyes." Technically, the public thought I was human.

The topics begin to change, and soon it is dark. "You know, I think you actually do have a chance at being a female me."

I grin. "Thanks. It was nice meeting you, Tony."

"You too, Ash."

Suddenly, a strawberry-blonde woman steps up to the table. "Tony! Where have you been?"

"Pepper, this is Aislynn Wyvern, owner of Wyvern Global. Ash, this is my fiancé, Pepper."

"Tony..." The woman is obviously exasperated.

"Hello, Pepper. Your fiancé and I were having a lovely chat about genetic mutations and thermonuclear fission. Don't worry, I've kept him here and out of trouble all day long."

She smiles gratefully. "Thank you, but we have to leave now. There's a situation back at Stark Tower that Tony should really get back to."

He frowns like a puppy. "Oh God, don't tell me. It was Natasha, right? She finally killed Legolas, didn't she?"

Pepper growls and proceeds to drag him out of the café as I laugh. After paying for the food we'd consumed here, I step out onto the busy streets of the city.


	2. Chapter 1: In All My Dreams I Drown

Waking versus dreaming. Illusion and reality. Is there even a difference? I don't see one. Not anymore. Everything,_ everything_, is a dream. Everything is projection, and perception is easily manipulated. There are drawbacks, however. It's getting harder and harder to distinguish one from another. Totems aren't helping. Not much, anyway. Nothing is working. I see nothing anymore, no lines, and though some see that as a gift, to be able to change and work with even the most solid of objects, I don't. It's a curse to not have anything solid anymore. It's like watching everyone else walk on the stable ground while all I can do is fall. The world is collapsing itself around me, and... I think my dreams, once my only escape, will be my destruction.

Quickly making my way through the streets of Mirage City, I have to halt several times to allow people to enter various shops for warmth against this cold world. I feel none of it. Nothing has any effect on me that I don't want it to, as long as I remember to separate the real and fake. It may be frigid, but I can imagine it as warm. My eyes carefully measure the sights around me, storing them away in their respective areas around my surprisingly uncluttered mind. Whereas normal people see definite lines and boundaries, all I see are rules to be broken, things to be shifted.

Back at my richly furnished apartment, something which I had no control over as it had been left to me by my parents (and the least extravagant of all of their properties), I drop my keys into the waiting ornamental bowl. My parents had left me sole ownership of their company, which ranged from pharmaceuticals to advanced weaponry. It was on par with Stark Industries, Wayne Enterprises, and formerly Queen Consolidated. What happened over in Starling City was crazy, let me tell you that. Ollie was so serious nowadays. But that was to be expected, ever since he asked me to help him with the nightmares. Since we were both, as he put it, spawn of economical geniuses, we'd grown up together. During a sleepover (at my house, the nanny was watching us), I accidentally created a dreamscape in his mind. After getting over his initial shock, we'd created a new reality that consumed us until our waking moments.

When he returned, he stayed away from me. Stayed far, far away until I revealed to him my fear - I could no longer distinguish reality from parody. And I showed him. I changed something, something here. My powers were growing. And eventually, he told me. He told me the whole truth, the real truth, and asked me to help him with his dreams. I worked with him in secret for two months before returning to Mirage. Then I took a trip to Gotham to assist Bruce. I never, never, told either of them the side effects for my help. I was then stuck with the horrors I took from them. And like a cancer, they began to seep into the real world. I saw things, saw people, where they should not have existed.

So here I was, getting richer and richer by the second even though I did nothing to help my company, Wyvern Global. I was the prodigal daughter, a practical genius in her own right. Several newspapers listed me as a female Tony Stark. Me, Aislynn Wyvern, as a female Tony Stark. As if. While Oliver, Bruce, and I had never met him, we admired him from the start. Our alter egos, however, had something of mutual dislike. He was on the right side of the law most of the time, while we were... Not.

A blonde, masked woman steps from the shadows, and I instinctively lash out, causing the glass vase next to her to explode outwards in millions of jagged shards. She ducks and curses. "Damn! Seriously, Ash?"

I freeze. "Sarah?"

"I'm the Canary now, hon. I heard you didn't have a roommate."

I laugh, sounding somewhat fragile and close to snapping. "Sorry, Sarah. You scared me."

She raises an eyebrow, taking in my worn appearance. "Hey, Ash, are you okay?"

"Fine, Sarah. Just... You know those nighttime endeavors take their toll." And it was true. Though the city was mostly crime-free, there was still the occasional dirtbag who had an excellent idea and the resources to carry out their heinous intent.

She nods, but I can see the suspicion brewing in her eyes. So I automatically change the subject. "Hey, as soon as I change, I'll be heading out. Wanna join me?"

I know she can't resist. So, ten minutes later, we're perched on a rooftop overlooking half of the city. While her uniform is sleek and black, mine is bold and vibrant. My eyes have been shifting in color along with reality, so I never really could predict what tint they'd be. I called it the fifty shades of my mental health. So, I donned white and silver. Emma Frost had actually helped me design my costume. I'd spent much of my time at the Charles Xavier School for Gifted Children, when I was a kid. She'd trained me, but even that hasn't assisted me in my inevitable descent into insanity. In tribute to the woman I had been closer to than my own mother, a side effect of having such a rich family, I used her signature color as the main theme of my own costume. It was full body, with silver accents, and made of a synthetic fabric that had many perks, but the ones that worked the best for me were the ones I added. So the suit, like everything else in my spiraling world, was adaptable. I wore gloves too, as well as a silver mask and a cloak. As a vigilante, my name was Reverie.

That's who I was, that was what I could do. Dreams and reality, I was living in both. Soon, I wouldn't have anyplace to belong.

The sun is just starting to rise when we get back. Together, we'd successfully stopped seven muggings, two homicides, and one attempted sexual assault. And Sarah finally told me exactly how she'd gotten here. She needed a place to stay, and I would gladly supply that. Along with the help of Bruce, I knew that we'd be able to effectively demonstrate the fact that neither of them belonged to the League of Shadows anymore.

* * *

I was inside an airplane, and it was ancient. I couldn't recognize the controls, nor could I place the horizon. I had minutes to react, and I had no idea what to do. The monitor clearly illustrates my trajectory towards what appears to be New York City as the plane soars forward.

Through the glass panels, the sun gleams brightly behind wispy clouds, and dread seeps into my bones. "Come in, this is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?" That was me, but not me. I was in someone else's dream, one that felt more like a memory, actually.

"Captain Rogers, what is your lo-" The first response is cut off by a woman.

I can feel the urgency of the situation as I hear a frantic British voice. "Steve, is that you? Are you alright?"

"Peggy!" A mixture of longing and relief washes over me. "Schmidt's dead!"

"What about the plane?"

"That's a little bit tougher to explain." Of course it was. I highly doubted that whoever I was should have actually been on the aircraft in the first place.

"Uh-give me your coordinates, I'll find you a safe landing site."

I glance back at the outdated monitor that I could sadly understand. There were active missiles, and I was on a crash course with a city filled with innocent people. "There's not going to be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down."

"I-I'll get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do." The person I was currently in knew otherwise. This Howard was a genius, but even he could not help me in my current predicament.

"This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York." I look out at the beautiful skyline and feel nothing but grim acceptance.

"I gotta put her in the water."

"Please," the English woman pleads, her composure quickly vanishing in the face of this dismal news, "Don't do this. We-we have time, we can work it out." It was as if I had a choice. But I didn't. Because it was me or them, and my life was certainly not worth the hundreds of thousands who would die if I didn't do this.

Her begging, though useless, tugs at the strings of my heart. Or was it his heart? In dreams where I inhibited someone else, our feelings were inextricably linked, and these were some of the strongest I'd ever encountered.

"Right now, I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer, a lot of people are going to die." His assurances are in vain. His reasoning was meant for her ears, but they were also a small effort to calm himself down.

A pause, then- "Peggy-" So that was her name, "This is my choice."

Another pause, then, through his eyes, I see his hands place a picture of her against one of the glass monitors. She's beautiful, and the black-and-white photo doesn't do her radiance justice. I can feel his love for her, and the force of it makes my own withered heart begin to crumble as I realize the inescapable truth of the matter. We were doomed. Death was the only option in this scenario, but at least it would only be mine.

Regret and despair assail me, and at this point, the emotions could have belonged to either of us. Then he turns the steering wheel downwards with a harsh, metallic creak, and we begin to fall, the plane shuddering as it descends. Another desperate glance at the circular image precedes his next words. "Peggy." It's something of a question.

"I'm here." Her voice is impossibly soft.

"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance." Unbidden, his memories flood my mind. The recruitment, the experiment, the stunning brunette with vibrantly red lipstick and an outgoing attitude...

I can hear the tears in her voice. "All right."

She's choking, and inwardly, so am I. "A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club."

"You got it." He vows, knowing he will never be able to keep this promise, but still making it anyway.

"Eight o'clock on the dot, don't you dare be late. Understood?." She tries to sound commanding, as though she can somehow _will_ this situation to resolve itself. But her voice contains no sign of any emotion besides unimaginable sorrow.

Though the sky gleams brightly, the stark clarity before my eyes is dull and dark. "You know, I still don't know how to dance."

The fact that he's still trying for humor in this deplorable situation overwhelms me with a surge of pity. I can practically hear her brittle smile over the radio. "I'll show you how," she has to stop for a second because she's on the verge of tears and she needs to _breathe_, "Just be there."

A silent countdown begins.

_10..._

_9..._

_8..._

_7..._

They both knew he wouldn't be there. I realize that I would give anything to have just a bit more time, even though I know this is a memory, and like all memories, it would end as if watching the end of a film. But nobody usually, truly_ feels_ the end of a particularly tragic movie, now do they? "We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your-" He can't even finish the sentence.

The radio is cut off as the Artic ice surges up to greet me. 0.

But if I had been on the other end of the line, I would have seen her lose all color, and heard her say, "Steve?"

Then halt for a moment as she realizes the inevitable. "Steve?" It's a broken sob this time.

"Steve?" She's falling apart, and her grief is palpable as her voice cracks and she dissolves into tears. An aging man walks away to give her privacy and to preserve her dignity in this heartbreaking moment.

The impact jolts me, and icy water assaults my every sense. I can't see, can't move, can't feel anything but the frigid bitterness I'm engulfed in that is shoving me to the edge of consciousness. _ Goodbye_... Then I'm gone, and everything is dark.

Hundreds of miles apart, two strangers wake up with a start, gasping for breath. Neither of them have escaped from the depths in which they were just drowning. Both sincerely doubt they ever will.


	3. Chapter 2: Labyrinth

Upon waking the next morning, I grab my laptop. Minutes later, I gasp in shock. "No..."

The dream had seemed familiar to me, and suddenly I knew why. A plane going down, old-fashioned controls, a sacrifice... That Peggy was Peggy Carter, one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. I was currently in their database, thanks to a shadow program I had designed to be untraceable and undetectable. The person who's dream I had invaded was none other than Captain America. I was so screwed.

Sitting in the living room, I casually munch on a bagel slathered with cream cheese. I didn't need to worry about my calorie intake, since my nighttime activities actually made me require more than the average person. My phone begins to ring, and I hit ignore, but the call comes through regardless. "Hey, Ash."

I roll my eyes. "I should have known. What do you want, Tony?"

"We got cut off yesterday. How about having dinner with me and my friends?"

"You have friends?" I sarcastically toss back, smirking.

I can practically hear his grin. "Oh, you know. The Avengers."

He might find that fun, but I go pale. "Um, well, I'm rather busy, plus my roommate-"

Sarah snatches the phone from my ear. "Of course she'll go. She was dying to get out of the house."

I silently shout at her, and she smirks. Diving over the back of the couch, I attack, but she holds me at bay while she nods. "Uh huh. We can get there. No need to send a ride, Ash's got her own. Yep. We'll be there."

Then she tosses the phone back at me and I snarl at her. "I can't believe you just did that!"

"You can't just live like a hermit. Look at what happened to Bruce."

"He's living with the woman of his dreams."

"Fine, then. I'm just speeding up the solitary confinement time." She tugs me towards my bedroom. "Now go pick out some clothes and get ready."

Hours later, I stand in front of the mirror, frowning. This was a vastly different look from my usually very modest blouse and slacks. I wore an ivory dress that clung to every curve and ended mid-thigh, a silver belt tight around my waist. It was sleek and strapless, accenting my body in all the right places, a body that I easily maintained with my nightly workouts. Diamonds glimmered at my wrists, ears, and the silver clips pinning my hair up in a sleek updo. An intricate, silver antique necklace is something I never cease to wear. It had been a gift from Emma, and it was also my totem. My eyes were lined with kohl, and my lips were brightly painted crimson. A light blush tinted my cheeks and showcased my fragile features. The shining gold streaks in my hair were set off like fire within the white-blonde locks. My eyes had settled on a neutral shade of chocolate brown.

Sarah whistles when she sees me, dressed in an backless ebony dress that dipped amazingly low, with a slit up the side of her floor-length skirts. Her dark blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, and the only jewelry she wears are bloodred rubies gleaming at her ears and neck. "I'm still mad at you, Sarah."

"No you aren't." She grabs my wrist and leads me to the waiting chopper on the roof.

Half an hour later, we land on the top of Stark Tower, not a hair out of place. I step out into the inky darkness and shiver. "Wow. You clean up nicely, Ash." Tony remarks when I step off of the elevator.

I feel several sets of eyes studying me and I avert my eyes. Sarah, however, takes the attention in a stride, stalking forward with feline grace. When my eyes meet a pair of ice blue eyes that I recognize, I feel a surge of guilt. I had intruded upon his dreams. He looks at me in confusion and I realize that everyone but Tony and Sarah are as well. "Your eyes," Sarah mouths helpfully.

Tony steps forward and takes my arm. "This is Aislynn Wyvern. She's a mutant."

He looks at me and smirks. "They turned silver."

I quickly look down. He tightens his hold on my limb and leads me to the dining room, where I am seated next to the very person who's dream I had intruded upon. "Aislynn, Sarah, this is the team. We've got Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Steve, and Thor. Everyone, this is Sarah and Ash."

I smile hesitantly at them all. The food is delicious, Asian cuisine of various influences. Sarah fits right in, explaining away her combat knowledge within minutes. I have more trouble, and barely touch my plate. Hearing a sudden, out of place music, I freeze, and the knife slips from my grasp to land with a metallic clang on the plate. Silence arrives seconds later. Sarah's out of her seat and by my side just as soon. "Ash? What's wrong? You gotta tell me what's wrong."

My paranoia is acting up again, those horrid little voices telling me that this isn't real, that Limbo was and that the only way to prove it and escape is death. I need to go, I need to leave... I'm losing my grip on sanity. "Ash?" She shakes me, and Bruce, whom I knew was a doctor is even closer now as well.

I quickly push the thoughts out of my head and give them my practiced, perfect, china doll smile. "I'm so sorry. I just dozed off there for a moment." Without realizing it, I had suddenly adopted the cool, collected manner my former teacher so often presented to the world. If I had been any more like her, I would have spoken with a British accent.

"There's really nothing to be worried about," I pick up the knife and hold it up with a grin, "See? All better."

Her eyes know I'm betraying her trust. She purses her lips, and I laugh, a high, tinkling sound that suggested all was fun and games. "Sarah, please. I'm fine. You know I daydream sometimes."

She returns the false smile. "Alright, Ash."

Tony, thankfully, breaks the stony silence. "So, were we boring you?"

I turn the mega-watt smile his way. "Of course not! You all just happen to remind me of some people I went to school with."

The rest of dinner passes without incident, and the friendly banter resumes. As soon as we'd finished, Tony bounces off of his seat. "Karaoke time!"

The team groans. I, however, am mystified. "Ma'am, I'm going to apologize beforehand for what's about to happen," the soldier whispers to me conspiratorially.

And just like with everything else, I smile. "Don't be sorry. Let's go."

Minutes later, we're all wincing as Tony belts out Poker Face, by Lady Gaga, in a falsetto. He finishes, and bows to the crowd with a jovial attitude. "So, who's next?"

Natasha sits in silence, her eyes deadly as Tony surveys the room. "No volunteers? Then we're doing this Hunger Games style! May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

He pretends to rummage for an imaginary slip of paper. "And the tribute from District Thirteen is... Aislynn Wyvern!"

I chuckle. "Sorry, but I don't sing."

Somehow, someway, I end up with the mic, despite my valiant efforts to resist. Sarah smirks. "I'm picking the song," she calls out, "Jarvis, will you play Just Give Me A Reason, by Pink?"

Tony winces. "Ooooooooooh."

I pretend to be nervous, but really, the joke was on them.

Several minutes later, the whole room is slack-jawed. "You said you couldn't sing!" Tony whines.

"I never said I couldn't. I only said I didn't."

He glowers. "Jarvis, play something really hard."

Demi Lovato's Skyscraper begins to play. This was going to be a long night.

Several artists later, from Adele to Rihanna, and Pink to Whitney Houston, I have won the unofficial grudge match between Tony Stark and I. I grin evilly as money exchanges hands and, it seems, Tony's lost the most.

Everything is perfect, until the elevator dings as Jarvis warns us of an intruder. "I'm sorry sir, my protocols are being overridden by Director Fury."

A man in a trench coat who I am highly familiar with steps into the room. "Hello there. I didn't know you had company, Stark."

"Yeah. You just interrupted a very important business meeting with one of my top competitors, Aislynn Wyvern of Wyvern Global."

"Business meeting sounded a lot like a karaoke session." Tony doesn't even look fazed.

I step forward. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr.?" I knew the answer to my question already. Director Nick Fury, who continues to search for the Charles Xavier Institute for Gifted Children, his reasons still unknown. On more than one occasion, I'd had to beg Emma not to kill him for his persistence.

"Director Fury. I'm here to talk to the team about some highly sensitive information. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?" Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Sarah tense.

"Your company has several military contracts, so I'm sure you understand the meaning of confidential. There's really no need for you to leave the room."

Stark sighs. "Out with it, pirate. What's got your panties in a twist?"

"Miss Wyvern here is from Mirage City, are you not?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then you know about the vigilante, the woman going by the name Reverie."

Tony laughs. "You want us to what, hunt her down?"

"We need her help. We've heard she has unique talents involving... The subconscious."

Sarah comes forward almost threateningly. "So you're just going to exploit this woman, is that it? Treat her like a hunted animal and force her to do your dirty work?"

I place a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Sarah..."

Fury turns his one good eye towards her. "You're taking this rather personally. Do you know her?"

She doesn't miss a beat. "Of course not. All I'm saying is that she's done a lot of good for the city. She's cut crime rates down to practically zero, not to mention the fact that she assisted Batman during the attack on Gotham a year ago. Don't treat her like a criminal."

"We have no intention of doing so. On the off chance that you do see her, tell her I'm interested in a meeting. I've got the feeling that she'll come to you before she comes to me." With that, he's back in the elevator and gone.

Sarah's still bristling. "I don't like him."

Bruce laughs dryly. "Preaching to the choir. I got dragged here from India, remember?"

"It's getting late, Sarah. We should go. Thanks for the lovely evening, all of you. I'd like to return the favor sometime soon."

Later that night, it's my screams that cut through the dead silence. Sarah bursts into the room, staff in hand. "What's wrong, Ash? And don't brush me off again."

"It's... Getting harder and harder for me. I don't know what's real anymore," I whimper weakly.

Her weapon clatters to the floor as she pulls me into a hug. "Oh, God. Everything's going to be alright. I'm here, and I'm real. I promise."

And hard as I try, I cannot make myself completely believe that. I do not get much sleep that night, and within the mere hours that I do, I am trapped for weeks within nightmares of reality. And what once had been a gift, something that made me _special_, was now nothing but a curse that was slowly killing me. And I can do nothing but watch, helpless, as the ground disappears from under my feet, leaving me to fall into a bottomless abyss of absolutely nothing. And I am only jolted back into reality when I put the barrel of the gun to my head and pull the trigger. The ringing echoes stay with me throughout the days, and the hushed voices inside of my head are rattling against the cages I've trapped them in. Whispering, always whispering, to me, my one great fear. That I am no longer alive and this is all but a dream.

One never-ending, layered nightmare, a labyrinth from which there was no escape from death because I was not the sacrifice. I was the Minotaur, and I was sentenced to my fate.


	4. Chapter 3: Chimera

Author's Note: Here's the next chapter! I know that right now, the chapters are coming out fast, since I posted the prologue and first two chapters and this chapter within the span of 4 days... But the updates won't always be this fast. I get distracted by other stories a lot, so don't expect me to keep up this pace, since I always try to meet a minimum of 2,000 words per chapter to make them nice and long, and that takes time. If you like the story, please leave a review! I need to know what you guys are thinking! P.S.- I'm just going to apologize right now for the sort of cliffhanger I'm leaving you guys with. Enjoy!

* * *

Sarah knew something was off the moment she stepped out that night. Her keen eyes scan rooftop after rooftop, looking for the thing that was out of place. Her gaze hardens when she catches sight of Nick Fury, waiting on the roof of an apartment building. The bastard really did know no limits. Lightly making the jump between buildings, she lands neatly in a catlike crouch.

Sarah stalks forward predatorily, meeting the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s intense gaze with a glare of her own. He opens his mouth and extends a hand, but she cuts him off. "No need for the pleasantries, Nick. I know what you want," she growls out, her alter ego's voice low and throaty, vastly different from her usual soft and girlish tone.

"I'd like to meet with your friend, Reverie."

She rolls her eyes visibly while clicking her tongue. "Tsk, tsk. I told you, I already know what you want. I want to know why you want it."

Her eyes wander to the uniformed super-soldier standing next to him with a carefully blank expression. "And if you're just here to ask, then why'd you bring the muscle?"

"Why'd you wear the mask?"

She tilts her head, the wind ruffling her wig's long, snowy-white locks. "Wouldn't you like to know? Fair enough, I suppose. Would you believe me if I told you it all started with a Gambit?" Her smile is taunting, because they could never make the connection to the actual Queen's Gambit, the boat where the old Sarah had died.

"What's your answer, Canary?"

She bites her lip seductively. The mask gave a person a sense of freedom they normally never had. Like booze, it eliminated your inhibitions. Sarah could be whoever she wanted to be with the Canary. "Give me yours first. Why do you need her?"

"We need information extracted from a subject who refuses to cooperate despite our, ah, numerous attempts."

Her eyes turn cold at the though of what transpired during those attempts. "Fine. No guarantees if she'll help, but come back here tomorrow night, same time. If we catch a whiff of a trap, we're gone. And trust when I tell you that in her case, you truly have no idea what you're doing."

Before either man can say another word, she's vanished into the night.

It takes nothing more than an inkling of a thought for the rifle in front of me to dismantle itself, midair. I toy around with it before making it disintegrate into a fine powder. Another wave of my hand restores the object to its original self. I turn towards the room, and narrow my eyes. All at once, everything shifts, until my surroundings mirror an outdoor Parisian-style café. Sitting down at a purposefully empty table, I bask in the sunlight for several minutes before a waiter comes along with a croissant and a porcelain cup of hot chocolate in his hands. Smiling at him before he departs, I turn towards the food and tear the bread into small pieces before dipping it slowly in the luxuriously thick liquid. Suddenly, the door I'd forgotten about slams open, and Sarah's eyes widen as she takes in the scene.

"Ash!" Hearing the sudden scolding tone of her voice, I frown and will the room to resume its former layout, except for the table and chairs I was currently occupying, along with the tasty treat perched on the wrought-iron tabletop.

"What?"

"Is this supposed to help you remember the difference between waking and dreams? You said using your powers here was screwing with your head."

I sip the heavenly drink. "I'm losing my mind anyways. Might as well enjoy insanity."

She snatches the food from my grip. "Well, you can't go crazy yet. You've got a meeting with Fury, remember? I just scheduled it."

Sighing, I begin to make my way to my bedroom. "When?"

"Tomorrow night, the southern roof in that apartment complex."

"Fine. I'll be there." With that, I slip into my room and lock the door behind me before letting myself topple onto the bed.

* * *

I'm dizzy by the time I get to the rooftop. It really hadn't been a good idea to have been using my powers the day before. Careful to disguise my weakness, I also have to mask my shock upon seeing Steve there, in uniform. Why didn't Sarah warn me? "What is it you need from me, Director Fury?"

"For starters, maybe your real name. But you aren't dumb enough to do that. So I'll ask for something else. We've captured an agent for an organization we currently have no name for. He won't respond to any of our tactics. I heard you have the skills to get us the information."

Under the ivory hood that disguises my all-too recognizable hair and eyes, I smirk. "I can do so much more than that, Fury," I breathe.

He raises an eyebrow in challenge. "You," I direct my gaze towards Steve. "I've seen your dreams."

The soldier steps forward. "What are you talking about?"

I struggle to breathe as my chest tightens. Almost imperceptibly, my hands clench into fists, my nails digging deep into the skin of my palms. Turning, I leap up onto the edge of the roof, walking back and forth, carefully balancing on the ledge. "I saw. I saw through your eyes. I felt it all. I drowned that night too," I whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear, let alone Fury.

Then I lift my hand and look down at the street. Everything stops, even the sounds of traffic halt. "Shit," Fury mutters, looking over the ledge to inspect the frozen cars. He looks back towards me, "I thought you could only work in dreams, not reality."

Baring my teeth in an almost savage grin, I laugh. "The only difference between dreams and reality is that in reality... You think you're awake."

Both men exchange looks of concern. Of course they would. Not knowing who I was toying with, myself or them, I continue. "Do you know that you can only escape a dream without outer stimuli in one way? Because sometimes you're so far gone you can't wake up?"

He hesitates before asking the question I was leading him to. "What way?"

"You die." I totter forward, precariously close to losing my balance and plummeting to the stock-still street below.

A hand suddenly grabs my wrist and yanks me off the ledge with a harsh tug, both of us landing roughly on the gravel. Glaring, I push myself off of the Captain before he can catch a good glimpse of my face and hair, pulling myself out of his tight grasp on my waist and arms. The rest of the world resumes its pace. "Will you help us or not, Reverie?" Fury asks, surprisingly calm.

"Give me the file. Have him asleep within the next hour, and I'll see what I can do." He complies, and I give them one last, brief smile before leaping lightly to the next roof.

Once home, I collapse on the couch after yanking off my outfit, leaving me in only my black underwear, which I cover with a skimpy robe. Reading through the file with minimal attention, I toss it to the side before closing my eyes, focusing on the face of the person I was looking for.

I'm floating. Hovering in a world of pure, white. emptiness, I visualize a world being built in it. It was multi-layered, but stable. I would have minimal difficulty extracting the information needed. Concentrating on the target, I quickly find his waiting mind and yank it into my dreamscape. Automatically, his mind assimilates to the surroundings and makes them familiar. Ignoring the new people, colors, and signs, I hunt for the stairway that would lead me deeper into his subconscious. I freeze at the sight waiting before me.

* * *

It was a facility. A facility I couldn't help but feel a surge of recognition towards, even though I was sure I'd never been there before. Then I place it. Some additional memories had gotten into my head from the dream of Steve's that I'd invaded. This facility eerily resembled a HYDRA base. Shaking off the chill setting deep into my bones, I visualize the layout of the building, the basic shape that I'd conceived and let the target's mind fill in. Ignoring the whispers coming from behind the closed doors, I come to a sudden halt when I hear a piercing, feminine scream that sends adrenaline pumping through my veins. I shut my eyes. _This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real..._ But I can't stop myself.

Seconds later, I'm tearing off in the direction of the pained shrieks, and I rip the door away with barely any effort and find that the woman pinned down on the table is... Me. The masked doctor turns, and malice glitters within his cold, dark eyes. "You've fallen down the wrong hole, Alice. This is not your Wonderland."

Then he lunges for me and I cannot bring myself to move. Petrified in shock, I am the perfect victim. Until my other self yells, "Get out of here! Remember!"

Remember... I'm bitch slapped with an influx of information, the information that I was searching for. It was clarity, stark, terrible clarity. The truth was worse than the lies.

The doctor's scalpel hits my chest, tearing through the skin and impaling my heart. Blood is everywhere, drowning me, killing me, painting me crimson. I wake up screaming a name. Chimera.

The dreams continues to haunt me, nipping at my heels as I try to run. _Alice, Alice, Alice... This is not your Wonderland._

Not my Wonderland indeed. All this time, all this time, I'd so foolishly clung to the idea that my dreams were the rabbit hole I needed to go down to Wonderland, the place where anything was possible and I was the heroine of every story.

I was the Red Riding Hood who defeated the wolf without any help. I was the Cinderella who found her own prince. I was the Rapunzel who escaped the tower alone. I was the girl who wrote her own story and carved her own fate.

Now I was watching all my dreams fall apart at the seams. I wasn't Alice at all. And this Wonderland was my Wanderland. I was lost, so very lost, wrapped up in the very illusions I used to craft and always be able to navigate. I had made my own maze, and now I was entombed in it.

Like a fallen snowglobe, the glass was cracking and the water was draining away. And I was the girlish figurine trapped within, smiling, always smiling, even as the world shattered into a million pieces around me.

Chimera was coming. It was coming and I wouldn't be enough to stop it. This was so much worse then the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. could have possibly foreseen.

My ears ring as I wobble to my feet, a childish song running through my mind as I go. Opening the door, I unsteadily make my way outside, not caring about the frigid rain pelting my skin and making it sting, soaking easily through my thin clothing. I run. I run and run, and I never intend to stop. The world blurs around me, people and buildings melding into one chaotic, abstract image where nothing is decipherable.

_All around the mulberry bush,_

We thought it was over.

_The monkey chased the weasel,_

HYDRA was beaten. The Red Room was practically gone, the Chitauri had been defeated.

_The monkey stopped to pull up its socks,_

We thought we were safe.

_Pop! Goes the weasel!_

We were wrong.


	5. Chapter 4: Too Late For Goodbye

Author's Note: Sorry for the mini unofficial hiatus. That is, if anyone even noticed. I mean, this story isn't exactly popular. In fact, if you're reading this, thank you! And please leave a review. If someone doesn't, that will have been over ten thousand words without a response. Is it not good enough? Oh well. Um, thanks to my unofficial beta for proofreading and helping me through writer's block. This beta will remain unnamed at their request. Read and review!

P.S.- Who else is glad the petition to stop SOPA surpassed its goal of 100,000 signatures?

* * *

I've always been punctual. The concept of being late appalled me since childhood. Promptness was to be expected if anyone were to take you seriously. Late was not in my vocabulary. But now I wonder. All of these deadlines I've fought to meet have only served to make me tardy for all the other things in my life.

My delirium has faded, leaving me to realize that I've been racing around my city barefoot in nothing but a thin robe and my underwear, all of which is clinging indecently to my body due to the rain. I look behind me to see a trail of red being washed away by the rain. Water, in it's most natural forms, serves only to cleanse and to heal. In this occasion, it serves to wipe away the bloody path that I've carved all over the city in my fevered haze.

Calmer, I hurry back to my apartment, and it takes little effort to sneak in, avoiding security cameras and various employees with ease. Upon returning, I discard my ruined clothing an step into the shower, letting the piping hot water rinse away the dirt and grime of my day, steam building around me as the water continues to run. I stand there for some time, until the blood draining from my wounded feet ebbs and the water remains clear as it goes down the drain.

Stepping out of the bathroom and into my room, I slip into a tank top and dark, wonderfully flexible pants before sitting down on my bed to inspect the soles of my feet. Most of the wounds and scrapes are clean, so it doesn't take long to properly bandage them. Of all the gifts I am endowed with, natural healing is not one of them. If I concentrated, I could make the torn flesh repair itself, but that would only serve as a waste of what remains of my sanity.

Goodbye is never something one enjoys. They are always accompanied with an air of finality. I avoided using them at all costs. Not that it helped. Jean and Scott were still dead, and I realized that my one regret was that I'd never actually bid them farewell. To Jean, before they went to that damned facility, I'd given her a smile and a brief embrace. Only a tight hug and a whispered saying of luck had been what I'd allowed Scott to leave with in search of Jean. Both times I had foolishly hoped that by not saying goodbye, they would be forced to return. I had been so woefully wrong.

Still, I kept away from them like the plague. Just for different reasons now. If Jean and Scott never received a goodbye from me, nobody else deserved one as well. My parents died in a plane crash on their way to Milan for a business trip. Never once in my life had they told me the three words every child longs for. And never once had I said goodbye to them either. Our relationship had been the exact opposite of my friends' parents. Bruce's mother and father had loved him with all their heart. Moira would give anything for her son, and Ollie's father had even killed himself to ensure Oliver had a chance at life. But I still mourned them with the dregs of emotion I still had left in the husk that was my soul.

Now, knowing that my time was limited by my waning grip on reality, I regretted all the words I never said. I grieved for the life I had so carelessly tossed away all because of a life I had lived once, so long ago. A life that had been but a dream, that was what I'd thrown my real life away for. Soon, I would completely fall into the chasm of madness, and the instant I fully allowed myself to believe this was a dream... I knew, with a sinking feeling, that I would try to escape. And like I'd told Fury, there was one means of escape from the dreamworld.

I used to ponder the things of the universe, staring up at the gleaming stars in the sky, like diamonds set in an onyx inlay. Now I knew. It was, and would always be, too late for goodbye.

The next night, I don my ivory costume yet again and make my way back to the rooftop where Fury was patiently waiting. Making the jump between buildings, I am careful to avoid landing on my still-sore feet, opting for a somersault instead. "Did you discover anything?"

"Chimera. He works for Chimera. They're working on the Hades project as we speak," I briskly reply.

"Sounds a lot like a HYDRA operation to me," Steve calls out.

I nod to him. "It should. Chimera is the successor of that mantle from the decimated Red Room. They used to work in complete and utter secrecy, but their plans are on a much larger scale now."

"Hades. Care to elaborate?"

A vivid mental picture of my bloodstained chest and the silver scalpel embedded in it makes me stiffen. I could still hear my screams. "Hades, in Greek mythology, is the god of the Underworld. His domain is that of death."

"Mass killing. Can't these guys get some originality?" Fury mutters, shaking his head.

"This is very original. They plan to bring something otherworldly to this planet. Something devilishly arcane."

He quirks an eyebrow.

"What is it?" "Demons," I whisper, shuddering at the thought. The voices within my mind cackle with glee.

The Captain steps forward. "Demons, ma'am?"

It's getting harder and harder to breathe. "They are so much worse than you can possibly imagine. One demon could slaughter an army. And they're planning to summon a legion." Black feathers, icy eyes, and even colder hearts come to mind.

Fury frowns at me. "What's bothering you?"

I turn away from them. "The thought of demons doesn't bother you?" I retort sarcastically.

My impenetrable façade was quickly cracking. I had to get out of here.

"Goodbye, Director Fury. Good luck. You're going to need it." With a curt nod, I turn to leave.

I ghost through the city, wandering, stopping crime here and there, but lacking my usual snappy comebacks and famous one-liners, opting instead to simply tie them up and call the police to pick them up.

At one of the last scenes, I stay until the police arrive. I haven't spoken to them in days, and off the record, they sometimes handed me interesting cases they needed assistance with. Of course, not everyone in the police department liked me, but most were good men.

"Haven't seen you in a while, dreamer girl," Detective Michael Saunders calls out to me.

He was homicide, so there was no need for him to be here for attempted rape. He came anyways, and I had a feeling it was to hand me a case.

"I've told you a hundred times, Michael, I'm Reverie. What's the point of having a cool vigilante nickname if the cops aren't going to use them?"

He shrugs. "What do vigilantes do in their spare time, anyway? I know I could sure use a cup of coffee later."

My eyes are shielded with my hood, but my smile is not unseen. I chuckle. "Sorry, Detective, but I'm all booked. Anyways, isn't consorting with a known felon illegal?"

"Aren't half of the things you do illegal?"

"Yes, but not you. You could get some jail time," I laugh, knowing perfectly well that if that were true, half of the department would be in jail.

His demeanor turns serious. "Here, though. Serial killer came to town a couple nights ago. Calls himself the Puppetmaster. Not very original, but what he's doing to his victims sure is."

I open the case file he so readily provides me with, careful to disguise my feelings at the sight of the butchered bodies. It was grotesque, really, what humans could do to one another. He's dislocating every bone in their body, then boring holes into their limbs to add strings, effectively making them life-sized marionettes. He's sent several videos of his creations doing elaborate plays, all of which are in the CD within the file. I nod. "Any leads?"

"None." For a moment, he looks disheartened.

"Don't worry. I'll get him. You know I always do." Then I smirk, "And afterwards, maybe we'll get some coffee."

The boyish grin returns to his face when I bring up the idea of coffee. Suddenly, AC/DC blasts into my ears, pulsing up and down the street. I thank my common sense for using pins to secure my hood, otherwise the gusts generated by Tony's suit would have revealed my identity. "Hello, boys. I've come to pick up the lady."

Michael looks up in amazement. "You're dating Tony Stark, dreamer girl?"

"Nope." I turn to face the unmasked face of Tony Stark. "Haven't you heard? It's rude to encroach on another vigilante's city."

"It was either me or the Captain. Patches wants to talk to you."

A voice calls out from behind me. "Actually, Stark was just eavesdropping. I need to talk to you."

Groaning, I am tempted to facepalm when I see the Captain making his way through the stunned officers. But I keep my cool façade. "Boys, boys. No need to fight over me. I'll go with the Captain. No offense, Stark, but I've heard the rumors. At least he knows how to treat a lady."

I flash a smile at Michael. "I'll be right on the case."

* * *

The cool scent of freshly washed clothes surrounding the mysterious woman is enough to make Steve take a double-take. She smelled like... Home. Like his old house on laundry days, and like the small vase of flowers his mother kept on the kitchen windowsill. It vaguely reminds him of something he'd noticed recently. But where? Where else could they have crossed paths? She tosses a lazy glance his way. "Something the matter, Captain?" Her gaze was unusually piercing, unnaturally perceptive.

"You just... Remind me of something..."

Her keen eyes darken to a sad amber. "I know. Home, right? What is it, huh? The food your mom cooked, your girlfriend's perfume?" She sounds wistfully curious, melancholy lingering in her bittersweet tone.

"Laundry."

Reverie quirks an eyebrow. "I've never gotten laundry before."

He blushes. "Not just that. I meant fresh laundry. And flowers. My mother kept some on the windowsill in our kitchen. She said it kept her from getting migraines while cooking."

He thinks he sees a sparkle of tears in her eyes before she turns her gaze downwards and away from his, her hood completely hiding her face from him. "Ah. That makes sense."

"What about you? Do you ever-"

She cuts him off sharply. "No. There's nothing I'd like to remember about my house."

"Then what do you smell?"

"Around myself? My powers might not work on me. Have you considered that?" She pauses, then continues. "I smell... Ocean water. And I taste summer sunshine and saltwater taffy. I hear laughter and the chatter of people I don't know and people I probably will never meet."

He spots the small, wry smile tugging up the corner of her lips. "I thought you were a city girl."

"I am. I've never been to the beach in my life. Home isn't always a house, you know. Sometimes, it's a memory, or even a person. Sometimes..." She's quiet long enough for him to wonder if she'll finish. When she does, it's the barest of longing whispers, "It's a dream." Then she picks up the pace, leaving him mystified but sure that she's done sharing.

* * *

I don't bother waiting for him. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even realize we've been ambling about for the past ten minutes. I wonder if he knows where he's going. If Fury really wanted to talk to me, he should be anxious by now. So why am I really here? Subconsciously, I must have realized that he wasn't being honest, and yet with him I went. Do I feel guilty for invading his dreams? Do I feel I owe him answers, should he choose to ask for them? Do I feel a sense of kinship, camaraderie, with him, simply because I experienced what must have been the worst part of his life? Coming to an abrupt halt, I quickly lash out and grab his arm. "Why are you here? What are you doing?"

To my surprise, he's honest. "I wanted to see if you were alright. You seemed a bit... Off, back on the roof."

I am mildly taken aback. "And you know me well enough to be the judge of that, do you, Captain?" And as always, when I am uncomfortable, I get prickly, my grip tightening around his arm.

"I'm good at reading people. You're a person."

"Don't fool yourself. You have no idea what I am." My voice is icy and drenched with raw grief and unspeakable sorrow.

The feeling of his focused gaze unnerves me, and I step away, releasing his arm. "I'm sorry. That was out of line. Just tell me what you need. I wouldn't want to have someone like you hanging around some..." I'm one centimeter away from saying -thing. "Someone like me for too long."

He reaches out to me, and I flinch back, recoiling as though it was a fisted hand he was extending, not a comforting touch. Looking up at him, I can feel the shift burn through my eyes, corroding the honey shade into a glossy, unnatural shade of silver. I don't stick around to see the flash of recognition within his eyes that was sure to arrive.

* * *

A/N: Yup. That's right. A cliffhanger followed by the cliffhanger. If it was too subtle, I'll explain in the next chapter exactly what she expects him to realize. If you know, leave me a review! Also, reviews motivate me to update. If you want more chapters... You know what to do.


	6. Chapter 5: The Lake

Author's Note: Hey. This is late, as usual. I really struggled with the completion of this chapter. In fact, I had most of it done when I posted my last chapter, but later felt it needed to undergo major revision, since the story then dug itself into a rut. Hopefully this is everything you were hoping for. Please, please leave a review.

Umm.. Many, many changes in POV and perspective here, so just follow the lines, which will help indicate these changes, and you'll be good to go.

The inspiration for this chapter was the song You, by Keaton Henson. Listen to it, love it, and if you want, listen to it while reading this. It fits the mood for later on.

* * *

He knows. That short, simple phrase races through my head like a song on repeat as I weave in and out of alleys in my frantic escape. In a normal race, I wouldn't stand a chance. But in a world where my powers are bleeding through like water on a freshly inked page, I control the reality.

I am at my apartment within minutes, unsure of what to do or how to react. I'm running on pure survival mode, so I quickly pack an assortment of clothes and weapons into two duffel bags that I lob into the backseat of my sleek, ebony car, which purrs under my fingertips, ready to take me to wherever I want to go.

A part of me, however, clings to the hope that he will not recognize me. But I've practically given away everything. And with the way my eyes turned silver, just as they had upon our first meeting, when I was only Aislynn... He had to know.

* * *

Steve chases after her, frantically, furiously, not knowing his true intent, but knowing he had to, and left in the dust for the first time in a long time. All that's left of her is the wispy scent of fresh laundry and wildflowers.

He felt so stupid. How could he not have recognized her? The eyes gave it away for sure, but her scent, her clean, sweet, addictive aroma... He had sat right next to her for crying out loud! How could he have not recognized it?

* * *

Home. It's a foreign concept, a stolen idea, a broken wish. Shattered dreams, littered with hopes of laughter, of joy, or family... Of love. It's something I've had, and something I've lost. And I don't think there's a chance that I'll ever get it back.

I used to have it with my parents when I was young, until they grew cold and shied away from me like the plague. I still ask myself why. I gained a new home at the Institute. My third home ruined the school for me. Limbo. Now I've lost all three.

Maybe I was never meant for happiness. Maybe my life was always supposed to be this way. Quick, fleeting, unimportant. Just another off-her-rocker heiress already on a sure trajectory with a youthful death.

Destiny. Fate. Was this mine?

All of these thoughts run in and out of my mind like rivers and streams rushing through mineral-encrusted underground caverns as I slowly amble up the long driveway leading to my childhood home. The staff who, in my opinion had been far too loyal to my family to be let go of simply because I could not bear to reside in the house permanently, greet me happily.

My room has remained in pristine condition, all of my old clothes still smelling freshly washed; they still did laundry weekly, I suppose. Weary of the night's misadventures, I forgo dinner in preference of a warm bath. Sinking into the extravagantly large tub, the water serves its purpose well, lulling me into a contented silence.

There I stay until the water begins to cool, upon which I step into an old piece of clothing; a sheer, white, layered chiffon nightgown that is pulled in snugly slightly above my waist before flowing loosely to my knees, the lacy embroidery of the front kept from making impressions upon my skin by a layer of silk, all with a thin overlying net-like cloth over it. Lightly collapsing into the bed, I tuck the sheets around myself before wondering how long it would take for S.H.I.E.L.D. to find me. I wondered if the Captain was the type of man who preferred to hunt his prey alone. If so, I had about a day before the technologically-stunted man would locate me. I would make the best of it. I was far too tired of running. Running from my past, from my dreams, from my powers, from _myself_. From insanity.

Fight it? How could I fight my own mind?

* * *

As always, dreams are unavoidable. I find myself cold, shivering, and... Watched. I'm in a cage, one designed for observation. Scraps of dark fabric serve as the only modesty I possess. Anger burns hot beneath my skin, and a dark voice within my mind is grim and vengeful. They will pay, the voice vows. It's a sentence covered in blood bound to be spilt.

The not-me bares their teeth, scrambling to the glass in front of them, allowing me to glimpse the reflection of an angelically beautiful face with out-of-place of eyes filled to the brim with hate. She slams her hands flat against the unbreakable barrier, black talons squealing as she curls her fingers inwards. "Let me go!"

An inhuman mix of a screech and a growl is spewed from her lips, twisting her reflected features into a horrifyingly lovely mask, and the shriek carries the thirst for blood. "I will kill you all! I will slit your throats and drink your blood! I will crucify your daughters and sons!"

Her evil is infectious, seeping into my veins and prompting me to tug away from her, trying in vain to separate our personas. Her litany of threats and curses continue for what seems like forever, until the daylight tugs me free from the grip of the nightmare with a gasp.

* * *

After breakfast, I take a quick shower before changing into an ivory sundress that falls slightly past my knees. The cotton fabric is clinging and soft, with a square neckline, scalloped sleeves, and an almost fitted bodice-style top portion followed by a gradually widening, A-line skirt. A side part tames my shimmery-golden hair into a sleek, silky sheet that flows easily to rest near my waist. The day is both warm and cool enough to avoid a breeze, leaving me to wander aimlessly around the extensive grounds of the estate, haunted by the ghostly sounds of children's laughter that rang clearly in my ears, reminders of days long past.

* * *

Three children are on their backs, splayed against the grass. Two boys, one fair-haired, the other with onyx hair, laugh alongside a young girl with endless ribbons of silvery-gold hair, bright against the emerald ground. "My turn, my turn! Bruce, spell 'pig' backwards!" She calls out with childish glee.

Stifling mad giggles, Bruce complies with the intended, "Gee, I pee!"

"Ash, spell I-HOP!" Oliver yells, eager to hear the heiress say his favorite practical joke.

"I-H-O-P," she spits out in rapid-fire succession, the sentence sounding like a disgusting declaration that send the kids into another fit of boisterous laughter.

* * *

"Kitty, I-" Her sentence is cut off by a girlish scream as she topples into the large fountain in the front yard of the Institute.

Spluttering, she sits up, caught between laughing and scolding. Her mousy-haired friend is bent over, silent only because she had already run out of air and remained unable to catch her breath. "I can't believe you, Kitty!" She howls, too busy simultaneously choking on water and trying to stop chuckling, remaining half-submerged in the cool fountain, her wet clothes and hair plastered to her skin.

* * *

"There," Emma proudly declares, finishing the last quick swipe of the dainty brush, leaving a white streak across the top of Ash's gold-painted nails in French Tip fashion. Smiling, the preteen moves her hands close to her face, taking the opportunity to study her expertly polished nails while blowing on them lightly to speed the drying process.

* * *

The fine grains of sand are perfect for the shoeless woman to scrunch her toes deep into with a contented sigh, basking in the rays of sun that warm her skin and turn her cheeks pink. The sounds of laughter and the shrieks of children echo lightly through the air, softly accented by the cries of seagulls as they circle the clouds. The smell of salt and the aroma of summer sunshine tickles her upturned nose.

Flip-flops dangle loosely from her fingers as she strolls across the empty stretch of beach in front of her seaside house, heading to recline on the white bench porch swing that creaks comfortingly as she sits down, a cold pitcher of lemonade and a glass already waiting for her on the table beside the seat.

Her eyes are alight with contentment as she uses the heel of her palm to brush away the sticky grains of sand before curls her legs up to tuck her feet underneath her as she settles to watch the sun set.

* * *

As the slideshow of sweet memories draws to a close, the darker shadows of my past reemerge. The parts that led me, inevitably, to the house I was in and the mess in which I was entangled.

* * *

"Why won't you leave me alone?!" I shout, anger bursting from my tone.

"Because I know something's wrong! It's been wrong for months now, and you just keep pushing everyone away! Why won't you let me in?!" The blonde telepath throws back.

For a brief, hurt-filled second, I drop my guard. That's all it takes.

A sharp gasp is barely heard over the sudden pounding thrum of my heart. "Ash... Why didn't you tell me?"

My eyes are like windows, instantly shuttered. "It was none of your business. I'm a graduate now, and I'm leaving."

As I brush past the woman I once considered a mother, her hand on my shoulder nearly stops me. I wriggle out of her grip before infusing pure venom into my tone. "Don't touch me. Goodbye, Professor Frost."

I turn left, my hand lingering on the doorway frame for the briefest of seconds as final words escape me, soft, sweet, and wistful, melancholy dripping from the short phrase. "Goodbye... Emma." I'm not sure whether she heard me, but I don't bother looking back to find out.

* * *

The door of her apartment has been left open, a sliver of a crack that instantly throws his guards up. It's neat... And abandoned. Obviously she wouldn't wait around for him to find her. If he wanted answers, he was going to have to find her himself.

The thought of informing Fury was quickly dismissed. Somewhere deep down, he wanted to prove he wasn't entirely helpless in this new world. He could do this.

* * *

The house was near a river, and several streams formed a lake which was maintained for safe swimming, barring chemicals and such to preserve the natural beauty. The water. It was cold and refreshing, tempting me to swim right to the middle, sink to the bottom, and take a nap. Kicking off my shoes, I easily dive in and make my way to the deepest part. Sparkling blue yet clear at the same time, dotted and stained with... Red? All of a sudden, I am far too aware of the weight of my limbs, and of the blood slowly seeping from the gashes lining my wrists. Had I done that? Why couldn't I remember? Both the fabric of my dress and the water mingles with the crimson spirals, and all of a sudden, I'm too distracted by the airy patterns the blood is making. Then I'm sinking, watching bubbles float from my lips through the red and blue, which is unclouded enough to allow me a glimpse of the bright light of the sun, white through the water. A smile curves my lips. Red, white, and blue... I was sure the man of those colors would never find me here, peaceful, at the bottom of the lake. Was I falling asleep or waking up? I don't think it matters...

I'm gone before my lungs register the need for air, glad that the last thing I got to see was the sky before the drowsiness forced my eyelids shut.

* * *

A/N- That was a major cliffhanger. Oops. Well, then maybe now you'll review! ;)


	7. Chapter 6: Coming Home

Author's Note: All of your reviews motivated me into updating quickly! Aren't you glad? See, maybe if you guys have reviewed earlier, this would have gone by much faster!

Okay, so I wanted to give you guys a bit of a treat to make up for that cliffhanger. This will sort through several of her problems, starting with that near-suicide, because yes, she must be alive for me to write another chapter. Enjoy! And leave more reviews for faster updates! ;)

The song Better by Regina Spektor inspired most of this chapter, since I fell in love with it while watching My Sister's Keeper again and put it on repeat while writing. Listen to it while reading if you want.

Oh, and I made a cover for the story. The site cuts a lot of it off, and I don't know how to fix it, but if you'd like to see it fully, visit my profile for a link and directions.

* * *

The first sense that returns to me is my hearing. It's quiet, so startlingly soundless that my ears are nearly ringing, and would be, if it weren't for the soft beeps accentuating the passing of time. The first finger of my left hand is stiff, encased in a plastic object that I immediately recognize to be a sensor indicative of my pulse.

As I breathe, my closed eyes dart around the blackness of my eyelids, and I wonder. I wonder why I am lying here, how I got here, but most of all, if I even want to open my eyes. But I do, because the emptiness gets to me. So I sit up, blinking rapidly for my eyes to adjust to the bright light of the sterile facility I immediately recognize. "You're awake."

I tense, not having heard the doors slide open to allow the ivory-clad woman entrance. Her soft voice and British accent tug at my heart with a sense of aching familiarity. "How did I get here?"

"Contrary to your request, I did not leave you alone. When your conscious mind slipped, as well as your mental defenses, I immediately sensed the danger. I had Kurt teleport to your location before I dived in to haul your barely breathing body out of the water. I'm a rather good swimmer. We took you back here, where one of our newest members, a woman with a regenerative mutation, helped tend to your injuries." The words 'self-inflicted' are hinted at by the tone of her voice.

Her voice softens, "Aislynn, we took you home."

My throat closes, and I struggle to keep my composure. My already fragile state of mind does not help steel my resolve, which crumbles like the wall that holds my tears at bay. She already at my side by the time I break down, her arms around me, a hand stroking my hair in the comforting gesture that I've missed since I left all those years ago.

It was as if the time had never passed, as if I had never left, as if she had never let me go.

Hours later, I sit in a loose grey sweater with sleeves long enough for me to fiddle with (to cover up the faint, already fading scars) and black leggings. My hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail as I dig a spoon into a carton of ice cream, the blonde telepath sitting across the kitchen island with her own pint. "How've you been?"

I bite my lip before replying, "Scrambled. Like eggs."

Emma smiles slightly, chuckling. "Seriously, though, I really shouldn't be complaining. It's my fault this all happened, anyway."

She frowns. "Don't say that."

I drop my head into my hands as the world catches up with me. "Shit."

"What?"

"I've got so much to do. I have to get back to Mirage. There's this serial killer, then there's the actually night life of Reverie, and-"

She finishes my sentence before me. "Your Captain Rogers."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, he is not my anything, Emma."

"He is rather handsome, you know. And charming. The man's thoughts are filled with you now, even in his dreams."

My eyes widen as my mouth drops open in indignation and protest. "Emma!"

Emma chuckles, throwing her head back in that way that I'd missed so much, when she laughed so hard that she threw her whole body into it, shaking. Even her laughter seemed to carry that lovely accent. "Sorry, love, but it's true. He's wondering where you are. He wants to keep you safe."

"Excuse me?"

"He's already protective of you. That says much about his character, along with the fact that he has yet to inform his director of our true identity."

I groan. "Emma... I'm not going to sit here while you dig through my... His mind."

"Stay."

"What?"

Hope fills her hesitant gaze. "You heard me, Ash. Stay. For me. For you."

"But-" "Stop worrying about taking care of them and focus on taking care of you."

Conflict is evident in my every twitch. But I make the decision quickly, so that I can not take it back. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll stay."

Her eyes light up, but I stop her before she shouts. "Not forever. I can't let this killer keep murdering innocent people. Let's just hope that the police can keep the city safe while I'm away."

The joy refuses to fade from her eyes. "That's their job, now isn't it? You shouldn't let them forget it."

And for the first time in a long time, I go to sleep knowing that all around me are people who would be there when I woke up.

Loud squealing slightly awakens me, but what really jolts me to consciousness is the sudden weight on my abdomen. "You're here! Wake up, wake up, wake up!" Kitty Pryde squeals, jumping up and down on my stomach.

"God, Kitty, I swear it's like I never left," I groan, playfully pretending to still be sleepy with one eye opened while I l slyly reach back to grab a pillow and ram it into her. I successfully bat my best friend off of the bed, sitting up to grin before she staggers to her feet, still smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

"Come on, come on, come on! Emma made breakfast!"

"And saying things three times is going to make me hurry?"

Minutes later, I'm donning a borrowed dress from Emma that I've finally developed the curves to fit it. My lengthy hair is loose around my shoulders.

Emma was a closet chef, we discovered, during one of the summers spent at the school. Today, she's made Monte Cristo Benedicts, which combines a mildly melted Monte Cristo (ham and cheese) sandwich, made with day-old bread turned French toast and Eggs Benedict spiced with cayenne pepper and chives. It's a special dish she doesn't like to make often, and it just happens to be my favorite.

The kids, at this point, are already in class, so we have the kitchen to ourselves as we eat. "This is so good," Kitty mumbles through a full mouth.

Kitty leaves early, because she's got children to teach; ever since graduation she's been teaching a class to help kids control their mutations. Emma says she has the day off. We eat with light, pleasant chitchat and do the same when washing the dishes.

Both of us can sense the questions brimming on her tongue. "What, Emma? Don't treat me like I'm fragile just because-"

"Just because you tried to commit suicide, Ash. I have every right to act this way."

"What have I just walked into?" A gruff voice interrupts, and I turn to see one of my favorite people.

"Logan!" I leap into his waiting arms, and he hoists me into the air with ease.

Laughing, I wrap my legs around his waist and cling to his broad shoulders. "Geez, kid, ya trying to kill me? You've put on way too much weight to keep acting like a koala."

"I know you love my hugs."

Behind us, Emma sighs. "Your level of maturity continues to astound me."

Logan drops me to the ground and I move to stand by his side. "Come on, Frost, you know you want one too."

She shakes her head but walks forward anyway. He pulls her in close and leans down to press a tender kiss to her lips, while I back away in faux disgust. In truth, I adored their relationship. It began antagonistically, and they hated each other. But eventually, they helped each other heal in ways that only they could understand. Logan let go of Jean, and Emma let go of her own ghosts.

They had the kind of love that taught me about love in the first place. The kind of once-in-a-lifetime love that made me want one of my own.

The pair are looking at me, and I realize they must have asked me something. "What?"

"Do you want to go out with us today, kid?" Underneath his casual tone, I can detect worry.

"I'd love to."

Emma smiles. "Good. Let me just make a quick call."

Half and hour later, we stroll around, munching on cinnamon bites, when a voice calls out behind us. "Aislynn!"

I instantly tense, turning to look at my companions. Emma's face is purposefully blank. "You called him?" My tone is layered with shock, betrayal, and disbelief.

"You said it was one of your problems. I made it go away." She meets my gaze fully, truly believing her actions were justified. It would be of no use to try and argue with her when she felt like this.

I turn, steeling myself to the sight of the man I was running from. "Hey, Rogers. No cuffs?" There it was, my snarky attitude. I'd been wondering where it had gone.

"I'm glad to see you're alright." That one sentence lets me know that Emma did much more than simply call him.

But the guilty party, along with Logan, are gone when I turn to give her a glare. "I'm not."

We walk together, a silent understanding passing between us that says that I'll tolerate his presence. "Why are you here?"

"Emma called me."

"I mean, really. What are you doing here? What am I doing here? Why haven't you called Fury to collect me?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Because it's not my secret to tell."

"You're such a boy scout." I let my hair fall forward to obscure my small smile. Even though I'd said it with a scoff, I was actually pretty glad he was such a good person.

I lower my voice. "But thank you."

"No problem." He pauses, and I know he's got questions. Everyone seems to have one today. "Why did you..."

"It's a long story." My nails dig into the skin of the back of my hand, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed.

Slowly, he pries my fingers open and takes my hand in his. It's practically lost with the size of his hand.

Both of us look down at his bold move before he politely averts his eyes. "I've got time."

My smile turns bittersweet. "When I was sixteen, three of the people I loved most in the world died. Jean, Scott, and Professor Xavier. I lost it. I used my powers to enter a kind of empty dream space known as Limbo. It's dangerous to be there. There, a person can lose their mind. I lost all grip on reality. I deluded myself into thinking the dream was real. The Professor found me, and broke my world. By the time I woke up, I had lived far too long to just fit right back into the routine. It had only been a night here."

"Then?"

"Then I started isolating myself. I hated being me. I hated the Wyvern name and everything it offered and meant. My parents were cold and distant. They never once told me they loved me, you know. Eventually, I gave up on trying to fit back in to the place I once belonged. My powers grew, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before I died. They shouldn't work here, you know, not if this isn't a dream. And as I told you before... I wasn't even lucid when I... When it..." I can't breathe anymore, and I realize my grip on his hand must be painful at this point.

So I let go. And I run. I run, and I run, and just like the night I learned the truth about Chimera, I don't ever intend to stop.

* * *

A/N- This is not a cliffhanger. I mean, well, it's all about interpretation. If you see it as such, go right ahead and do it. Just leave a review cause that's what fuels me. :)


	8. Chapter 7: Clarity

Author's Note: Two updates. In one day. Am I awesome or what? It's not like I have nothing to do, I actually procrastinated quite a bit. What can I say, reviews just motivated me. So leave some more! :)

Oh, and the lighthearted stuff is OVER. We're getting into some deep stuff now. Especially at the ending, which is a mini-cliffhanger.

The line breaks indicate changes in time, or towards the end, changes in paragraph. ;)

The song that motivates this chapter is In This Shirt, by The Irrepressibles. Listen to it while reading, if you'd like. Oh, and sorry for the lack of my usual introspective sections where Ash just sits and thinks and things get deep. I promise I'll get right back to her complicated feelings soon enough. P.S.- Enjoy the cameo of a dead woman's ghost. *evil grin*

* * *

I don't exactly know how I ended up where I am, crying in a dark, dingy room with bottles of cheap liquor scattered around me. I suppose it's my fault. I got myself into this mess, maybe I was just too afraid to get myself out of it. I went to Limbo, I let go of reality, I pushed away anyone who tried to help me... I keep running from all of my problems but the biggest one of all is that I can't_ possibly_ outrun them forever.

"Aislynn..." My gaze snaps upwards to meet a pair of liquid chocolate brown eyes that I never expected to see again.

I scramble to my feet, gasping. My hands run through my hair, fingers wrapping around and tugging at the soft locks. "Jean? No, no, no... This can't be happening..."

"Oh God, I was right, I am dreaming, I-" Falling to the ground with a heavy thud, my legs splayed, several bottles are knocked down around me, jagged edges of shards digging into my exposed skin.

"Shh..." The red-haired woman bends down to crouch next to me.

I look up at her in awe, childish frailty seeping into my voice. "You're dead."

"I know. But you aren't, darling. You're all grown up." She smiles softly, reaching out with one hand to cup my cheek.

I sigh, leaning into her touch. "I've missed you so much. I never got to say-"

"Don't. Not yet. You don't want me to leave now, do you?"

I laugh, a sound between a chuckle and a sigh. "Of course not. But, how-"

"That's for later." She wraps her fingers around my wrist. "First, we have to get you cleaned up."

I nod, using her strength to pull myself up. "Of course."

Soon enough, I'm sober, bandaged, and freshly bathed, dressed in clothes that Jean easily handed to me. A black tank top with lace edges, dark pants, and a silver-studded leather jacket paired with silver-toed combat boots. A neat, side French braid tames my gold-streaked locks, secured with a simple elastic. "Here," Jean says, sliding a cool metal clip into my hair, which I look in the mirror to see in the shape of a silver, five-petal flower.

"Thank-"

"Not yet. I never got to give you your birthday presents." Intricately engraved knives are tucked into a black leather weapons belt she wraps around my waist, both the handles and blades decoratively detailed. The final piece she gives me adorns my neck, a silver phoenix with ruby accents around the eyes and feathers on a thick-chained neck to match the large pendant.

"Jean..." She touches the necklace, her fingers brushing against my skin.

"I have to go for not, Ash. I'm still dead. But I'm getting better. The Phoenix is getting better. Stronger." Jean brushes away a tear from my cheek. "But if you need me, if you really need me, just touch that necklace and ask. It won't break. You won't lose it. You will _never_ lose me."

"But Jean, tell me... Am I?"

"Crazy? No. Trust me, you're fine. I came because you needed me to show you that. Now it's time to go."

I choke on a sob as she tugs me into her embrace. "Any last words?"

"Goodbye. And tell Scott the same thing."

My fiery mentor vanishes, melting from my grip as if she had never existed.

I wipe the moisture away from my cheeks before moving to inspect the room for any more empty bottles. The motel clerk informs me that I paid for my room while checking in.

I stalk into the night with confidence. I am_ done_ running.

Back at the school, I leave a quick note for Emma, which read, "I'm leaving for now, but I will be back. Xoxo- Ash."

It's simple enough for me to use my powers to locate the man I had run from. He almost seemed to be waiting for me on his bike. "This makes it twice now that I've had a woman flee my company, ma'am, since I took the serum."

Rolling my eyes, I disregard his jibe. "How'd you know I'd come here?"

"I had a feeling." More like Jean sent him here, without his knowledge, of course.

I easily climb onto the back of his bike, wrapping my arms around his waist. Neither of us bother with helmets. "You're looking better," he comments over the sudden roar of the engine, which sends its vibrations through to my very bones.

"Just shut up and drive." But behind my sharp tone, I am once again smiling.

Within an hour, we once again reach New York City. Another half-hour later, we reach Mirage. It's around three in the morning by the time we get there, upon which I get him to park his bike in the underground garage before heading up to my apartment. "What changed?"

It was reasonable enough for a smart man like him to deduce my shift in mood. "I met up with some ghosts. We hugged it out." I chuckle, and I can see that he isn't sure whether to believe me or not. In this world, the both of us had seen stranger.

We stop at my door. "I should get going," he declares, and I nearly laugh at his sudden unwillingness to look me in the eye.

"Don't be ridiculous. Do you even have anywhere to stay? It's the middle of the night, I'm not going to make you drive back to New York." My firm tone settles the argument as I slide my key into the lock, a key I miraculously found in my pocket.

Sarah isn't here, having returned to Starling before all of my drama for her own problems. I doubted she would come back. Starling was her true home, and she had taken all of her things. "The wonderful thing about the future is not the technology, Captain. Rather, it's the liquor. As alcohol ages, it only gets more potent," I inform him, moving to my rather large liquor cabinet.

"I'm in the mood to get ragingly drunk. I already know you can't, but you sure as hell can try, right?" I tug out a bottle of scotch tonight rather than bourbon, favoring the smokier taste over the sweeter flavor.

Several glasses later, I'm pleasantly buzzed and have already discarded my jacket. Though I did not have amazingly regenerative capabilities, all mutants have an enhanced healing rate. Mine also gifted me with a superhuman metabolism, a quality I often had to work to overcome. "I hear you're an artist, Rogers."

"I draw. What do you do?"

"To feel normal? I sing."

"I've heard you. You have a lovely voice."

I snort. "Oh please, I hate powerhouse songs. I prefer softer ones. Have you ever heard Fact-Fiction by Mads Langer?"

"No."

Pushing myself up, I hobble over to grab my guitar and sit back on the couch, next to him. "Ready?"

"Go for it."

Before I know it, he's asleep, and so am I.

* * *

Just as it was yesterday, I awaken to a solid presence atop my abdomen. This time, however, it is not Kitty jumping on top of me. It's the Captain, who's snuggled against my stomach. My guitar is safe on the floor. I push myself up by my elbows, careful not to wake up the still-sleeping super-soldier.

Standing, I stretch, before making my way to my bedroom. Discarding my clothes, I place the phoenix necklace and the silver hairclip onto my nightstand before undoing my braid and stepping into the shower. Afterwards, I dress in worn jeans an unmarked grey t-shirt that somehow remains loose yet clinging to my skin. I put my hair up into a low bun, the flower pin once more in place in my sleek locks. The necklace is a given, along with Emma's. The solid feel of the pendants, each from a surrogate mother of mine firmly grounds me to reality. The leather weapons belt is around my waist for casual wear, since Reverie's weapons were too recognizable.

"Rise and shine, Captain," I call, already brewing a pot of coffee. "We've got work to do."

Soon, he sits, also showered, and dressed in old clothes left laying around by either Bruce or Oliver, whose toned physiques ensure that they will fit him comfortably. "So, demons," he begins, oh so casually.

"Yep. Demons. Scary, evil, beautiful."

"Beautiful?"

I think back to the not-so dream I'd had, right before my wake-up call to reality. "Don't ask. Just trust me."

"Fine." At this point, he know when not to push.

"Good. Chimera scientists aren't really on good terms with them. They started badly, but now have a working business relationship. Demons feed off of evil, fear, basically any negative emotion. This world is a figurative feast. In exchange for passage to Earth, they will grant the scientists power over the world."

"In other words, it's Loki all over again, just with a different threat."

"The only difference is that they can carry out preparations in a much more discreet manner, meaning that we have a smaller chance of finding them."

My cell phone, which I'd forgotten about, begins to ring. I find it on a small counter where I had left it during my frantic escape. "Hello?"

"Ash, have you seen Steve? He hasn't checked in for a while, and I can't keep Fury at bay for long," Tony hurriedly spouts.

My gaze discreetly flicks to said soldier as if Tony could see me. "Yeah, I have. He's here. With me."

There's a long pause. "At your apartment."

I roll my eyes. For a genius, he sure was dumb. "That's a given."

"You slept with him, didn't you?"

"No!" Then I reconsider. "Well, he slept on top of me, does that count for anything?"

Out of the corner of my eye, Steve blushes, most likely recalling what, or for a better term, who, he'd fallen asleep on.

"How do you sleep on a person without sleeping with them- Never mind. Just get your asses here so I can whoop them." A click precedes the empty dial tone.

"Come on, Cap. Tony misses us."

I make him stop for donuts before heading to the Avengers Tower. Tony gives us an appraising look as we step off of the elevator. "Donuts. You know, Nick Fury once had to ask me to exit one of those."

Out of all the things I expected him to say, this was not among them. "Where's Natasha and Barton?" Steve asks, getting right to business.

"There was some kind of super emergency they were needed for." The Captain and I exchange dark looks.

"It's already-" I bend over, falling to my knees, biting my lip to keep from crying out.

"Aislynn!" Both men simultaneously call out, kneeling beside me.

"Sir, her heart rate has spiked considerably, most likely indicating a sudden pain," Jarvis adds.

The sharp burn lessens to a dull throb, a pounding ache below the surface of my skin. I lift my shirt to assess the damage and gasp at the sight of a intricate, winding tattoo of sharp vines with buds of flowers not yet blooming. "What the hell?!" I hiss, sitting up.

My voice is suddenly ripped from my throat as I stand.

* * *

_Reap the harvest blood bestowed _

_As it was in the Prophecy, as it was foretold _

_In hallowed grounds I will sleep _

_Until I am woken from the deep_

* * *

_Older than time itself am I _

_No record exists of me and mine _

_Beware for once you glimpse our faces _

_You will know of the destruction of all Nine races_

* * *

_But fate and fortune has seen fit to grant you a chance _

_You alone, soldier longing for lost dance _

_Have the power to best me with artifacts of old _

_One is silver, its twin is gold _

_The third is onyx, the color of night _

_The final contains an Angel's might_

* * *

_The blood of this youthful Seer _

_Must taint both blade and stone to draw me near _

_Prepare for battle, our fight is almost here_

* * *

_Prevail, and to slumber I will return _

_Fail, and be sentenced to watch your world burn _

_The destiny of all realms now lies in your hands _

_Find your weapons, scour the lands_

* * *

_I will provide you with several clues _

_Study there words which you now peruse_

* * *

_The weapons of silver and gold are of Greece _

_Heed the ancient texts to find what you seek_

* * *

_The ebony weapon was forged without light _

_A blade of Death, the reaper's scythe_

* * *

_The last is the opposite of your vibranium shield _

_The sword of a Blessed One you must wield_

* * *

_This is all that I will reveal _

_Keep the girl close, her blood breaks the seal _

_The end of all worlds is what I aim to bring _

_Ragnarok is close unless you win, Champion of the Fates' blessing_

* * *

_So what will it be, will you call or will you fold _

_Do you truly possess the valor the people claim you hold _

_Prove them right or prove them wrong _

_Either way this ends with a funeral song_

* * *

As soon as my eerie recitation finishes, I collapse, the floor rising up to meet me as consciousness is robbed from me. The last thing I realize was how wrong I had been about the creatures I had seen in my dreams. They were a threat of a whole new kind and caliber.


	9. Chapter 8: Hell Beneath My Skin

Author's Note: This is not one of my best chapters. It's lacking, and I know that full well. But I just had to navigate through a sticky patch, and I did. I promise the next chapters will be better. Read and leave a review!

The song for this chapter is Flesh and Bone, by Keaton Henson. Listen to it while reading, if you'd like.

* * *

I can't move, can't think, can't breathe; I'm trapped, alone, and I don't even know where. It's cold, I'm freezing, unable to stop shaking and trembling as if the world is ending and I'm stuck watching in petrified horror.

"Welcome, little one." I draw back, against the solid wall, my eyes darting around the inky darkness for any indication of the owner of the voice.

"Who are you?" I'm proud of the fact that my voice is clear and strong.

"The more important question is, who are you?" Sly and conniving, the voice gives me chills.

"I'm Aislynn Wyvern. I know exactly who I am."

It chuckles. "No, you don't. You think you do. How do you think you got your powers?"

"I was born with them."

"From human parents." It seems to find this amusing.

My tone grows defensive. "It happens all the time."

"With powers of your magnitude? I don't think so. Wouldn't you like to know who you are, weaver of dreams?"

"I'd like you to let me go." But the seed of doubt has been planted.

"Oh, you're free to leave at any time. You just need to find the exit. This is your dream, after all."

With that, the suffocating presence dissipates, leaving only the sound of my breathing to help kept track of the time. A black blade appears beside me. With shaking hands, I pick it up, knowing what I have to do to return to consciousness. "Why can't this ever be easy?" I grouch, shaking my head.

In one sharp motion, I thrust the knife deep into my chest, piercing my heart and sending me right back to reality with a scream.

It turns out I've been asleep for hours, as I discover by looking out the window to see the bright sunlight ebbing. I must be in one of the bedrooms of the Tower, and as my eyes flick around the room, I slowly realize who owns the room I'm in.

An easel is a dead giveaway, along with a pencil-drawn portrait of a woman I easily recognized as Peggy Carter, drawn in perfect detail, immortalized by Steve's steady hand. From the gleam of her dark hair to the laughter in her eyes, he has managed to capture one of the elusive moments that time seems to love taunting us with.

I sit up, ignoring the ache pounding in my head and residual gnawing feel of my chest. The door opens before I've gone even two steps; Jarvis must have alerted them as soon as I woke up yelling. "Aislynn, you're awake!" Tony cheers, obviously totally hammered, from the alcoholic fumes wafting into the room.

"Good to see you too, Stark." I stumble, still shaky, and Steve frowns at me.

"Ash, is that blood?"

I look down to see a crimson patch staining my grey shirt in the exact same place I had stabbed myself in to wake up. "Oh my God..."

Frantic, I rip off my shirt to discover a rapidly healing wound. The shock of it completely takes away my ability to use my legs, and only the Captain's reflexes keep me from hitting the floor. Before I know it, there is nothing left, not even a scar or tender, pink flesh. "What am I?" I whisper, the words of the strange being coming back to haunt me. I can't help but feel like I should have stayed.

* * *

Hours later, we pore over my strange prophecy, helpfully recorded and written out by Jarvis. A spare t-shirt of Steve's has replaced my grey one. "Ash, do you remember anything else?" Tony slurs, still, amazingly, standing. He'd decided to see how much he could drink while I was asleep, apparently.

"No. But I do have some ideas. Weapons first, right?"

Steve opens his mouth to answer, but Jarvis cuts him off. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there is something urgent on the news," the cool, disembodied British voice says.

"Go on," Tony commands, not even looking up from the paper.

A holographic screen appears, and guilt overwhelms me as the voice of the reporter fills my ears. "Another two murders have occurred here in Mirage City, both committed and filmed by the man the public describes as the Puppetmaster. Among his steadily rising body count are recent college graduate Michelle Dansley and photographer Jessica Kinney."

Their pictures come up, and my hands grip the table even tighter, knuckles turning white. "That detective... He asked you to help solve the case," Steve speaks slowly and softly, as if I was a suddenly sensitive to noise.

I turn and head for the elevator. "I'm ending this."

Before either of the two can catch up with me, I'm in the elevator and heading down, down, down, the same direction my heart had just fallen.

* * *

Leads? There were none. As far as the police could deduce from each of the tapes, the girls were being held in a dark room. Which pretty much meant anywhere you could turn out the lights. The stage was dingy, and my eyes quickly went to focus on the ancient-looking pipes of the room. Those copper waterways were only found in the older, underground sections of the tunnels, sections the police wouldn't know about because they had been deemed hazardous and off-limits for years. Underneath the city spanned a network of intersecting pipes and subway stations, and even below that, eerie catacombs upon which Mirage was built upon. I had the scent. I just needed the prey.

It's pitch black, but easily lit with my powers, which I used to conjure a simple, glowing ball of light that hovers near me. I have forgone Reverie's costume entirely, instead donning the new clothing Jean had given me, right down to the ruby-studded necklace, which casts a soft glow and exuded warmth against my exposed skin. This was not the time for me to be merciful, and I would not taint my alter ego's name. No, this would be done Logan's way. Quick, senseless, and feral.

I let my other senses take precedence; since my awakening, they've been heightened. I can practically taste panic as I near an aging section of the tunnels, one that fits the videos' settings perfectly.

* * *

Birds have come to symbolize freedom, hope. But not all of them. The good ones, the pure ones, the white-feathered ones that sing out pure melodies. Then there are the other birds, the creatures of darkness and death. Sharp, inky feathers, talons, and eyes to match. Tonight, I draw upon the rage of the caged girl. Tonight, I discard my ivory skin to reveal the foul monster lurking beneath the surface.

I can feel my eyes darken, and I know that if I gazed into a mirror, they would be black.

"I'm sorry, Bruce." I whisper, apologizing for my betrayal of the pact we'd made to preserve life, "I'm sorry, Ollie. But he's got this coming."

After those last words, I slip into silence and melt into the shadows, losing all sense of time, of life, of anything but the hunt.

* * *

Drip, drip, drip, sounding like the soft pitter-pattering of rain on the windowpane, but this liquid is a bright crimson shade. Blood trickles down, seeping through the cracks in the worn cement. My knees shake, the knife clattering noisily to the ground, splattering more blood on my already stained skin. My pale hair is loose, bloodstained and plastered to the skin of my face, and I am barely breathing, my chest rising and falling in only the shallowest of ways. Footsteps approach, and I fall to the ground, a scream rising in my throat that I push down with a strangled moan.

"Aislynn!" The voices seem to float right by my ears, and I do not have the strength to reach out and capture them as I slide firmly into nothing.

* * *

He had been the worst kind of awful this world could produce, taking sick pleasure in what he perceived as his betterment of these women. When I held the blade at his throat, he had only laughed, goading me forward. "Become," he had coaxed, "Become like me. Be like us."

I was revolted. Up until he shoved me back, raining blows down upon me that I could somehow see but never counter. Then I snapped, snapped right out of my mind once more and took the blade and dug it deep into his gut. Against my sanity, my better judgment, my conscience, I kept going.

Again, and again, and again, I thrust the knife into his flesh, screaming obscenities. And he... He had only laughed, blood trickling from his mouth in a grotesque picture, laughed because he won. I had killed.

After that, I cared little about who found me one the floor, reduced to a veritable catatonic state as the gravity of taking a human life sunk into my bones, a stain I would never get out.

* * *

Brittle. Bone china dolls are lovely. Flawless. And yet they are easily broken. Far beyond the word delicate and right in the area of brittle. So thin that light could pass right through the porcelain, giving the plaything an unearthly glow. It was terrifying to hold one, for fear of applying too much pressure and cracking the perfect face.

And yet, one must wonder how they are made. The precision and skill needed to craft china dolls in such exquisite, lifelike detail was difficult indeed. They mirror innocence, in a way. So easily shattered; unable to be mended. They mirror life. The best things in the world are the easiest to destroy. Love, trust... Painstakingly built through the span of years. One word, one act, could break the bond once deemed invincible.

It's like an antique pocketwatch. Intricate to the point where all functioning would cease if even one cog was the least bit loose. So how could I work, how could I tick, if I was missing pieces? Oliver had been right. Killing takes away a part of someone's soul, and the first slaughter takes away the largest.

He had won, triumphed, because he left with more than he came with and I departed with less. He had a part of my soul.

* * *

It's not easy to go about life as if the bad things had never happened. But I had practice, now didn't I? It was ironic, really, to overcome one hurdle and run straight into another.

I pretend not to hear any questions about what happened down in the dark. When Steve asks if I'm alright, I smile and nod. I can see he doesn't believe me, but he is too polite to push. But I go to sleep with the lights on now, curled up in the too-large shirt that I haven't bothered to return to him.

I pretend to listen at board meetings, because I am still Aislynn Wyvern and nobody knows what happened in the tunnels but Steve, Tony, and S.H.I.E.L.D. I fiddle with blueprints, sign papers that need to be signed, play nice with whoever I need to. They are, perhaps, the easiest to fool.

I pretend to care when Fury talks to me, when I am working on solving the riddle of the Prophecy. The only thing I don't pretend to do is work. Day and night, I pore over the lines of the words I had said but have yet to understand.

As far as I can deduce, the weapons of Greece must belong to the Olympian gods of legend. The sword of a Blessed One could be many things, but it must be something holy. The reaper's scythe seems self-explanatory, but way too easy at the same time.

* * *

Maintaining my nightly watch as Reverie is now something I look forward to. I take solace in the seclusion, the one time of day when there wasn't anybody looking over my shoulder or asking me to be okay.

Because I'm not. And I'm far from ready to admit it to myself.

* * *

A/N- I know, I know, it's not very good. But I've gone boatloads to do, and not enough time. I promise I'll knock my muse back into shape and get back to awesome chapters as soon as possible because, to be honest, this chapter and my writing appalls me.


	10. Chapter 9: City Lights, Lonely Nights

Author's Note: This chapter also probably sucks. But my gosh, the next chapter, I promise, we're gonna get interesting! But please, leave a review because I really need feedback!

The song inspiring this chapter is What About Now, by Daughtry. Listen to it while reading, if you'd like.

P.S.- I'm going to start putting up quotes before chapters.

* * *

_Lying is done with words and also with silence._ - Adrienne Rich, American poet

* * *

I can't bring myself to face Detective Saunders after the avoidable tragedies, the blood further spilt on my behalf due to my selfishness. Every time I call the police, I vanish once I see his car. He always comes, knowing who made the call. But I'm already gone by the time he gets there. I hope he'll give up. But it's too much to ask of the man resolved to talk to me.

"Hello, Detective," I call out, easily slipping into the light. The officers skirt around me with practiced ignorance, all of them respecting my wish to not be scrutinized.

"I was beginning to wonder where you had gone, dreamer girl." Then he does a double take at the new, darker look I'm sporting. It wasn't hard to manipulate my powers to make my waist-length hair appear jet-black and shortened to slightly below my shoulders, since I'd discarded the hood.

My white mask has been replaced with a crimson-edged dark one, and my lips are painted bright red. My ivory gloves are now leather, fingerless biker ones; all in all, my new outfit gives me a more hardened appearance. "That's a new outfit." His gaze lingers on my throat, and seconds later I begin to wonder exactly what he's eyeing, my necklace, or my chest.

I clear my throat, drawing his gaze back to a more appropriate area. "Glad you like it."

"Walk with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I purr, stalking away from the cops taking the restrained thief away.

"What happened with the Puppetmaster? All the department got was a visit from some government agency telling us it had been taken care of."

"I handled him personally."

He chuckles grimly. "You couldn't have done that before his body count climbed?"

I tense. "I'm sorry, that was probably a sore spot. I'm sure you had something bigger going on," he instantly apologizes, eyes downcast.

"It's alright. Their deaths must have been hard for you as well."

"No, it's not. I was being a jerk. There's no excuse for that."

I smile and pause, before leaning forward to press my lips against his cheek. "It's okay, really," I assure him.

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. "You remind me of someone."

"Who?"

"My sister. She died in the quake. The one that leveled the Glades of Starling."

Respectfully, I lower my gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It isn't your fault." We amble along in silence after that, but I make sure to warn him to wipe away my staining lipstick before letting him return to his car.

He turns, though, a few feet from me. "Friends?"

"Could we be anything else?" I laugh.

* * *

Upon too many occasions for Tony to just ignore, I have fallen asleep at the Avengers Tower. He's set up a guest room for me just for those all-nighters. I find myself there once more, my mind buzzing with thoughts of the ancient weapons we had so little time to seek until, eventually, like all things, I succumb to sleep.

* * *

The darkness is comforting this time, sleek and inviting. I feel no obligation to move, rather, preferring to wait in the gloom for something to emerge as I know it must. Sure enough, a silvery light flickers towards me, growing in size until a full-grown stag.

It bows to me, nudging my extended palm with its head, careful not to touch me with its potentially lethal horns. "What is it? Should I follow you?" My voice is soft, almost sing-song, as I murmur to the regal animal.

He almost seems to nod and he turns. Resting a hand on his broad back, I lean against his side as we walk.

Eventually, we reach an alter of some kind, one decorated with fruit and flowers. A woman emerges from the surrounding trees. "So, you have come, Seer." Her accent is smooth, polished, suggesting power.

"I have."

In all sense of the word, she is my opposite. We share the same milky skin, but hers is ethereal in the moonlight. Where my hair is light, hers is as dark as the night. Where my eyes shift, hers remain solid, assuring, and warm. Her dress is Greek, a hunting gown that only goes to her knees, made of draped silver linen. "I am the Lady Artemis, goddess of the moon, the stars, and the Hunt."

I drop to kneel before her, the only gesture I find suitable for this event. "Greetings, goddess."

"Rise, Seer. In the realm of dreams, you are superior." Her light voice carries twinges of humor. "Ask your questions."

"The weapons of Greece, are they yours?"

She tilts her head. "Yes and no. Half of the riddle is mine, the other-"

_Twin_. The phrasing had seemed odd, but now it made sense. "Your brother."

A smile graces her features. "You are keen."

"How do I help my... Friend?"

Conflict gleams in her eyes. "I cannot reveal too much."

"At least tell me what is expected of me. What is my role?"

"The Prophecy demands sacrifice. 'The blood of this youthful Seer...'"

I finish the sentence left hanging. "'Must taint both blade and stone to draw me near.'" I pause, then the gravity of the words strikes me. "_Oh_."

"I am sorry, child." True sorrow is evident in her pitying gaze.

"When?"

"When you decide, but... I must warn you. That friend of yours? He will not let you go so easily. I suggest, with a heavy heart, deceit."

For some reason, a smile twists my lips into a kind of sad smirk of grim acceptance. "I understand. He cannot be distracted from the battle."

"I will leave you now," she whispers, and the rustle of wind through the trees is all that marks her disappearance.

Sitting up, a tear slides down my cheek, carving a path for others to follow as I look up through the windows to catch sight of the lustrous orb that seemed to shine just a bit brighter in acquiescence.

Just like that, I begin to laugh. Uncontrollably, almost insanely, I chortle until tears are once again streaming down my face, giggling at the impossible situation before me and the obvious choice with which there was no question of my decision.

* * *

The gym is where I find myself, unable or unwilling to sleep, either one could apply. Tony might be one annoying son of a bitch, and nosy as hell sometimes, but he was good with interior design, I'd give him that. Or maybe it was Jarvis; he seemed to do most on the legwork around the place, even without a corporeal form.

Before I know it, there's once again blood on my hands, but this time, at least, it's mine. My skin versus the leather of a punching bag reinforced for Captain America and the Black Widow- not the very best of ideas. I will the skin to knit itself back together, savoring the quick burn as the flesh mends. Now that I knew what was real, or at least, that I was awake, my powers didn't seem all that scary anymore. The ground was still shrinking, but for now it was somewhat stable.

"I haven't seen you here since that dinner." I spin on my heel at the sound of the feminine voice, turning to face the infamous Black Widow.

Sooty and stained with red, she looks every bit as dangerous as her name suggests. "As you can see," she gestures to her disheveled appearance, "We just returned."

We. It's so casual, how she talks about herself and her partner as if they were one. I have to contain my smile. In many ways, they were oh so reminiscent of Emma and Logan. I wonder why she's treating me the way she is. Nobody had told her yet- "Relax. I'm trained to notice things. I noticed you."

Nodding, I keep a calm demeanor when her partner walks into the room with bottles of liquor. "Tasha, I've got the-" He pauses, "Will you be joining us for the party?"

I have to chuckle at his openness. In contrast to his partner, he was eager and welcoming where she was distant yet understanding. "Do you mind?"

Natasha answers for the both of them. "No, we don't mind." Clint shows no signs of disagreement, so in sync with her that they could practically speak without words.

"Great."

We collapse onto the mats, more sprawled than sitting, all of us too tired to stay alert, yet too stubborn to go to sleep. They too must seek to avoid remembrances better locked away. Passing the first bottle around, we exchange various stories, my favorite being of the time they were in Budapest.

"You should have seen his face," Natasha exclaims, "When he saw me take down one of the idiots with this aerial maneuver!"

"Hey," he calls, mock-defensive, "I didn't know the human body could bend like that!"

A slow wink from the redhead makes me burst into hysterical giggles. "You certainly know by now how flexible I am, Barton," she drawls, a gleam in her eyes.

These two are more down to earth than anyone I've ever met, even with such a different world before them.

Eventually, I leave the master assassins, knowing that after all this, they only sought each other's company, and I was intruding.

* * *

The next place I find myself is the roof. Looking out over the vast night, lit only by glowing advertisements and the occasional window, I can't help but feel alone. I wonder who lives in those little apartments, who remains awake, who is truly restless, and who seeks solace in the dead of the night.

I wonder if anyone out there is looking back at me and thinking the same.

I'm not sure why, but all of a sudden, I'm perched on the edge of the roof, on the thin ledge that served as a barrier for accidental tumbles. What's stopping me? Why can't I jump? Why shouldn't I? The world slows around me, time screeching to a halt without my conscience thought or effort.

Maybe it's the alcohol talking; maybe it's the guilt whispering these dark thoughts... Maybe. I realize that I'm being selfish. I cannot die now, because my blood must be spilled at the right time, in the right place, in the right way, for the right reason. I almost scream at the irony of the situation. I was stopping myself from jumping all so that I could die at another moment.

I don't hear Jarvis' warnings. Maybe I just don't want to listen. But I'm leaning forward, too far, too late...

I didn't see him coming. I didn't realize he was so damn close until I feel myself falling in the wrong direction while the world resumes it's rightful pace.

I lie there, the breath knocked out of my lungs, my hair spilling across the black top of the roof, a beacon against the vast canvas of darkness. "Are you out of your mind?" I hear Tony's voice, but I know it can't be him who pulled me back because it sounds too far away.

"Don't yell at her, Stark." As he speaks, I feel the rumble of his voice through his chest, and I tuck myself further into the feelings of safety his body offers.

And I tune out everything else but the steady thrum of his heart that I know I have to preserve, the reason I have to do what the Prophecy commands.

People think they can control their fate. It isn't so. It's an illusion, crafted by the delusional. One way or the other, destiny keeps us shackled to our paths. Lies are like silk, used to hide the cuffs, to disguise the chains. Eventually, the silk must slip and the metal is bared, like the skin of a neck exposed to teeth in a night of reckless abandon. Everything falls with time.

* * *

A/N- Don't worry, she isn't going crazy again. The whole Prophecy thing has her going for a loop, plus the killing. In later chapters, I will get someone to help her, hint hint, bonding moment with a very special Avenger! (Guess who?) What to expect- Getting over major issues, learning why her parents grew cold, maybe a trip to find the weapons. I've got this all planned out.


End file.
